The Last Time
by primetime86
Summary: In the aftermath of Day 3, Michelle struggles to resume her life while Tony is in prison, but an unexpected discovery could be the key to sustaining their relationship... or will it only tear them apart? Rated T for mild language, violence, and suggestive material
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's notes_**_: As this is my first fanfic, I've agonized for ages before publishing. I may end up editing or even throwing out the whole thing, but for now, just enjoy, and if you are so inclined, please review!_

_This story begins at the very end of Season 3._

**The Last Time**

* * *

Michelle was updating the logs in a tech room when the door's keypad buzzed and she looked up to see Tony come in, a security guard following closely behind. Tony spoke to the agents in the room with her.

"Could you give us a minute, please?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure thing. Come on," the man gestured to the other agent, and together they left the room.

Michelle looked at Tony uncertainly. "What's going on?" she asked in an unsteady voice, dreading his answer.

"I'm back in custody. Hammond's taking me down to Federal," he responded softly.

His words made her mouth run dry, and she shook her head, unwilling to believe it. "No… No. They can't do this. Not after everything you've accomplished today."

Tony sighed. "Michelle, I put your well-being above the country's," he said firmly. "Nothing anybody can say will ever change that fact."

"But they can't—they can't put you in prison," she insisted, feeling a stinging at the corners of her eyes.

Tony could never stand to watch her cry, though it was rare. "Yes, they can," he stated determinedly, "And they will for a long time, believe me."

Michelle could feel her heart pounding, her breathing rapid. "Tony, don't talk like this!" she said desperately.

"Michelle—"

"I can't…"

"Michelle, come on—"

"I won't give up on you!"

"Please, Michelle, don't do this…"

"I can't—" Her voice broke, and she drew in a sharp breath, but in one swift movement Tony reached for her, kissing her fervently and holding her tightly to him. When they broke away, Tony held her face in his hands, stroking her cheek gently as he looked into her despairing eyes.

"Baby, you're alive," he whispered softly, fighting his own emotions. "And nobody else got hurt because of what I did, and that's more than I hoped for. I can live with that," he told her reassuringly, "Even in prison."

At that moment, the security guard stepped out from the shadows. "Tony, it's time," he said.

Tony allowed the guard to lead him out, but he held Michelle's gaze for a long moment until he finally turned and the door closed behind him. Michelle watched him leave, the warm feel of his hands still on her cheeks, a hollow feeling in her chest. He was gone.

* * *

It was now almost three o'clock, and Michelle had had enough. She was exhausted, her whole body was aching, and most of all, she felt she could not contain her overwhelming emotions much longer. She finished up the last of her work, logged out of her station, and left for the lockers to pick up her belongings. On her way out, she met Jack, who was coming out of an interrogation room, looking even more drained than she.

"Michelle," he said, surprised. "What are you still doing here? The relief team came in over an hour ago."

"I had to bring them up to speed on our open protocols," she told him. "I was just on my way out. Did you get anything from Rabens?" she asked, gesturing toward the interrogation room door.

Jack shook his head. "Nothing we don't already know. He was just a courier; Saunders hired him to release the virus and that was all. You should go home, get some rest." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "What happened with Tony?"

She drew a deep breath, swallowing her tears. "Brad Hammond took him to Division for processing; they're probably going to question him some more. Brad said they would hold him until a hearing in a few days." She looked at Jack with an anguished expression. "Can they really do this, Jack? I mean…is there any way—I'm just so scared," she admitted. "I feel like this is all my fault… If I hadn't—" she ran a hand over her eyes, "—gone into the hotel in the first place, maybe…"

"Hey," Jack interrupted her. He grasped her arms, and she looked up at him, her face weary and miserable. "This is not your fault. You did the right thing. You caught Alvers and because of that we were able to track down Saunders and stop the other vials. Going inside that hotel saved hundreds of thousands of lives, Michelle. You can't blame yourself for Tony's actions. It was an impossible situation." He exhaled, and dropped his hands and looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I'm gonna do everything I can for him, I promise. I can't change what he did, but I am going to testify at that hearing on his behalf, and everything's going to be okay, I promise you."

Michelle nodded. "Thanks." She felt ready to collapse with fatigue. "You're right, I gotta go home, I'm too tired to think clearly about anything right now." She turned to go, then looked back and said, "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"When you started all this with Gael and Tony…" she trailed off, but he understood what she was asking.

"I made him swear to secrecy, even from you. He hated it. He didn't want to keep this from you. It wasn't because I don't trust you, Michelle, it was to protect you," he said simply.

Michelle nodded again and walked away.

The combination of her overtired nerves and her heightened sense of awareness since Saunders' men had abducted her made Michelle very jumpy as she walked alone through the empty parking garage. It seemed that every echo startled her, and her eyes followed the shadows warily. She reached into her purse and put a hand on the gun there.

She drove home mechanically, hardly paying attention to the traffic around her, one hand still holding tightly to the handle of the gun.

* * *

_"Michelle."_

_Michelle woke reluctantly, but a smile crept over her drowsy face as she felt Tony's hand stroking her hair, his lips brushing her forehead. She gave a half-hearted groan of protest. "Mmmh, is it that time already?" she said, stretching her arms out to wrap them around his neck, her eyes still closed._

_"Come on, baby, it's almost seven-thirty. You've been sleeping a lot lately." His lips met hers briefly in a swift kiss as he disentangled himself from her arms. She felt his weight leave the bed, heard a rustling sound, and in an instant, the covers had disappeared and cold air washed over her skin. Her eyes flew open._

_"Hey!" she objected. There he was at the end of the bed, already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, holding the covers with a devious grin on his face. "You're going to pay for that," she said, getting up and slapping the seat of his pants playfully as she passed him on her way to the bathroom. He dropped the bedclothes and followed her, grasping her around the waist from behind. She smiled and leaned in to him. He planted two kisses on her neck, and before she could stop him, he pulled her slip up over her head. She turned to face him, a coy expression on her face as he looked her up and down. "Good morning," she said, flashing him a flirtatious smile._

_"'Morning," he responded, sweeping the tousled locks out of her face before kissing her tenderly on the tip of her nose. "Go get dressed; I'll make us some coffee. And hurry up!" he added, walking out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, "We've got a lot of open protocols to catch up on, and Division's going to get after us if we keep walking in late, even if I am your boss."_

_"Well if we move to Langley you won't _be_ my boss anymore," she retorted from the bathroom. Stifling a yawn, she turned on the water in the shower and stepped in._

_A while later she found Tony sitting at the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. She went to the steaming coffee pot and started to pour herself a cup, but the sharp smell was overpowering, and she suddenly felt light-headed and slightly nauseous. She put down the pot with a bang and stepped back from the counter, breathing deeply. Tony looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "What's up?" he asked, puzzled at the queasy expression on her face._

_"Is this a new blend?" she asked, pointing toward the coffee pot._

_"Um, no," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her, "It's the same stuff we always use. Something wrong?"_

_She shook her head, turning away from the coffee and reaching instead into a cupboard. "It just smells funny. Hmmm." She shrugged. "I'll just have tea this morning." She smiled at him reassuringly, but he continued to watch her closely for a minute, concern on his face. She rummaged in the cupboard until she found a box of herbal tea and went about making herself a cup._

_"You feeling all right today?" he asked her, still watching her closely._

_"I'm fine. A little tired, I guess. And," she sighed, "Hertzog is supposed to let us know today." She looked up at him from the piece of toast she was buttering._

_Tony smiled, trying to assuage her worry. "It'll work out, honey. You're gonna get that job. In a month we'll be packing up and moving to Virginia. You sure that's still what you want?"_

_"Of course, Tony. This is a huge step for your career. I couldn't hold you back from that." She came around the bar to sit next to him with her tea. He grasped her hand._

_"Hey, you are not holding me back from anything, alright? This is _our_ life, and we're gonna make decisions that are right for _both _of us, okay? There's no way I'm going to Langley if you don't have a job too." He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. "I love you."_

_She smiled back at him. "I love you too."_

* * *

In a daze she pulled into the parking garage below their apartment building and got out of the car. She ambled wearily up to the door and unlocked it, dropped her things on the floor inside, and staggered into the bedroom. Without bothering to undress or turn down the covers, she collapsed onto the bed and almost instantly fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Michelle woke groggily, the lure of sleep still tugging at her. Her body was stiff and sore. It was a moment before she realized that the other side of the bed was empty. In one horrible second, the memories of everything that had happened the day before came flooding back to her: the virus threat… Tony, shot in the neck… Chandler Plaza Hotel… Saunders… and then Tony being led away in handcuffs…_Tony_… She rolled over and clutched his pillow to her chest, dissolving, finally, into tears. She cried hard, sobbing uncontrollably, letting her long-stifled emotions have free reign.

At last, exhausted, she rubbed at her puffy eyes, her breathing slowed, and she forced herself to sit up. _Get a grip on yourself, Dessler._

She glanced around the dark bedroom, and noted the glowing alarm clock by the bed: 4:29 a.m. She had been sleeping for nearly twelve hours, yet her body still ached with fatigue. Her mind, however, was now whirling, and she knew returning to sleep would be impossible. She dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She peeled off her clothes, wrinkled and stiff with sweat from the day before, and stepped into the shower. Dark purplish bruises littered her arms and torso, as well as a range of cuts and scrapes, souvenirs of the harrowing events of the last two days. The hot water felt good on her throbbing muscles, and she leaned into the spray, letting it flow over her, washing away the grime, soothing her injuries. She stood there for a long time, trying to escape her thoughts. When the water began to run cold, she turned off the faucet and reached for a towel.

It was so quiet. She hated that silence, not because it was unusual in their small apartment, but because it forced her to feel Tony's absence. Her mind strayed to thoughts of Tony, where he must have spent the night, locked in a cold holding cell—_Stop it. You won't help him by torturing yourself._

Half-dressed, she shuffled into the living room, toweling her damp curls. The stillness was irritating her, so she located the remote and flipped on the television. Of course, the newscast was still reporting yesterday's events, and Michelle found herself glued to the set, reliving those tense, agonizing hours watching people suffer and die around her in the hotel, wondering when her own symptoms would start: if she, too, would leave that place in a body bag… She finally tore herself away from the TV and wandered aimlessly into the kitchen. She wasn't really hungry, just needed something, anything, to distract her. She retrieved the bag of coffee grounds from the cupboard, but the smell from the open bag of grounds made her stomach churn; she put it back quickly. Her eyes fell on a bowl of fruit on the counter, so she grabbed an apple and went back into the living room. Now the television screen was flashing a photo of Stephen Saunders, naming him as the terrorist responsible for the release of the virus. Nibbling slowly at the apple in her hand, disgust boiled inside her as she remembered Saunders' cool, threatening voice, _"You're an attractive woman… I'm guessing your husband would prefer you returned without disfigurement…"_

Suddenly, a fierce wave of nausea flooded her, and she ran back around the breakfast bar, just in time to throw up into the kitchen sink. She gagged and sputtered, her body convulsing violently, expelling the sparse contents of her stomach. When the vomiting subsided, she turned on the cold water and splashed her face, then filled her hands with water and tried to rinse the bitter taste from her mouth. Panting, she leaned over the sink, holding her wet face between her hands. She stood there a moment, attempting to slow her breathing and stave off the nauseated feeling.

Panic gripped her—what if she wasn't immune to the Cordilla virus after all? _Oh, God._ Alarmed, she felt the skin beneath her nostrils, examining her fingers for blood. Then rationality caught up with her terror. She had been tested and cleared, she wasn't hemorrhaging, and anyway, she would have been long since dead. _Then what…? _She abruptly remembered—was it only two days ago? it seemed like a lifetime—when the smell of the coffee Tony made had nearly made her sick. And that same morning, he had mentioned her fatigue over the past few weeks.

The smells, the tiredness, the vomiting… it was like the _click _of a lock falling into place as she suddenly realized, with a jolt, that her period was nearly a week late.

_Oh God, oh God, oh no, oh no…_ With all the stress of her work at CTU, and her worry about the job in Langley, she had not even noticed. _W__hat if…?_ She ran to the bathroom and rummaged frantically through the drawers until she found a pink box of pregnancy tests. Scanning the instructions, she tore the test from the package and rushed to the toilet.

As she finished and was washing her hands, she kept her eyes glued to the stick resting on the bathroom counter, now with a faint color flowing through the result window. Her heart raced as she watched first one, then (_please no, please no…_) two pink lines appear on the stick, indicating that the test was positive.

She clutched the test and sat down, hard, on the bathroom floor, leaning her back against the cupboard. For a moment her mind was blank as she stared, unseeing, at the stick. Then the full realization of what she was looking at hit her in the chest like a bullet, and she struggled not to vomit again. She was pregnant. _Pregnant?_ _How?_ Her mind raced. Well, it wasn't exactly a question of _how _so much as _why_ it hadn't occurred to her… that one week, it must have been almost a month ago, when they were both working long shifts, Michelle now remembered, she had inexplicably failed to remember to replace her prescription… _Wow._

She ran her fingers through her hair, breathing slowly. Yes, that week had been really stressful, and to blow off steam, Tony had taken her on a surprise early-birthday-present weekend trip to Santa Monica. After a few glasses of a particularly strong wine, the pressures of CTU were forgotten, along with any worries about birth control, and the two of them had engaged in long hours of blissful, uninterrupted (and perhaps half-drunk, she admitted to herself) love-making.

Michelle half-laughed to herself. Before yesterday, Tony would have been ecstatic about this news. He knew they had wanted to wait at least a couple more years, and the job in Langley was important for their careers, but he still would drop hints to her occasionally about how they could start thinking about having a family. As for Michelle, she had been reluctant to discuss it. She knew that a baby would change their lives, and particularly her life, a lot, and that she wasn't sure whether she wanted to put her career on hold, just now, to start having kids. And—she would hardly admit it to Tony, or even to herself—but she was just a little afraid of being a mother. Somehow, it had never been something she imagined herself doing, and she had always felt awkward and nervous around young children.

For a long moment, she fought the urge to weep all over again. She let out a long, slow breath, then stood up and turned to look at herself in the mirror. Wet curls plastered her round face; her eyes were red and swollen. Michelle turned sideways and pulled the light camisole she wore taut around her middle. She gazed searchingly at her abdomen, but of course it gave no indication of the small life growing inside her. Almost involuntarily, she placed a hand on top of her stomach, and couldn't help but smile sadly as she thought that Tony, although unknowingly, had saved not only her life yesterday, but the life of their child as well. Two tears fell from her eyes, but she brushed them away briskly. How would she possibly tell him about this? Knowing she was pregnant now made the thought of Tony in prison immeasurably worse.

A strange distant, slightly muffled sound interrupted her thoughts. Her cell phone. Puzzled, her eyes scanned the bedroom before she remembered dropping her coat and purse by the door the night before. She hurried down the hall and fumbled through her purse until she found the phone, ringing loudly.

"Dessler."

"Michelle, it's Brad Hammond."

Hammond. Her feelings toward the man were more than a little hostile at the moment. "Yes," she responded sharply.

"Look, I know you've been through a lot the last couple days, but we've got a situation. How soon can you get down here?" His normally scrupulous demeanor was replaced by a voice that sounded weary and strained.

Damn it. She definitely was not ready for another day like the last two. "I'll be there in thirty minutes." She snapped the phone shut without waiting for his reply.

Resigned, she headed back to the bathroom. It would almost be a relief not to have to contend with her mixed emotions about this pregnancy right now. She'd worry about it later.

Oh, wait.

The test stick still lay on the floor of the bathroom, drawing her gaze. She picked it up and examined it again, tapping it lightly against her palm. The ominous twin pink lines remained unchanged.

She bit her lip, deliberating. She'd have to do it at some point. Quickly, she flipped open her phone again and placed a call to her doctor's office. It was still too early for the office to be open, but she left a message requesting an appointment, then hung up and rushed to finish her morning routine.

* * *

_Tell me what you think! Reviews are great motivation to update quickly... :-)  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **__Here's the next one, folks, and I debated for a long time about publishing this entry as its own chapter, since it's actually only a flashback, but it's a bit long and I did enjoy writing it. I got caught in a writing rut after chapter 2 and was sucked into reading again. This one's just a bit of TM fluff, but it's kind of necessary to off-set the rather angst-y events that will follow in the next few chapters (dun dun dunnnn!). Thank you all for your lovely reviews, they are carrying me through this period of writer's block!_

_This chapter is dedicated to melissarc97 for being my first reviewer and follower! :-)_

* * *

_Michelle poked her head around the corner of his office, tapping her fingers lightly on the doorframe to get his attention. Tony was leaning against the front of the desk, a file in his hands. He looked up from the folder and gave her a tired smile._

"_Hey, I'm finishing up here, you ready to go?" she asked eagerly, but from the drained look on his face, she already knew the answer._

_He shook his head, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. District just called in another conference, and I still have to touch base with the San Francisco director about the latest system updates." He shrugged apologetically. "It looks like I'm going to be another couple hours. You should go home though."_

_Michelle approached the desk, pretending to monitor the floor below to hide her disappointment. "I might as well be here as home alone," she replied. "I've got some things I can work on."_

_Tony reached for her hand and grasped it in his, squeezing gently. "Nah, Michelle, come on. We're both tired, and at least one of us should get some decent sleep tonight." He leaned down and placed a swift kiss on her cheek. She looked up to meet his eyes. He was so rarely affectionate at the office, she couldn't help grinning warmly at him. He chuckled a bit under his breath, lifting a hand to brush a stray curl from her face and tuck it gently behind her ear._

_She stifled a yawn. He was right, as usual; she _was _tired. The week's late shifts were starting to catch up with her. "You sure?" she asked, leaning closer, now with only a hint of protest in her voice._

"_Yeah," he muttered. He dropped her a quick wink, saying softly, "Besides, if you're gone I'll be more motivated to hurry up here."_

_She laughed lightly, teasing him. "Hurry up, then. I'll be waiting," she said in a sultry voice, brushing her fingers suggestively down the length of his chest, bringing them to rest just above his belt._

_His lips curled in a smile, then he cupped his hand under her chin and brought her face to his. "I'll see you later, then?" he asked quietly, and kissed her again, this time on her lips. _

"_You know where to find me," she whispered in his ear. Tony squeezed her hand a second time and they broke apart, resuming their professional conduct. Michelle withdrew from the office, closing the glass door behind her, and Tony returned to the paperwork on his desk, stealing a final glance at her retreating back and smiling slyly to himself._

* * *

_An hour later, Michelle approached the door of their apartment, keys in hand. She fiddled with the ring until she found the right key, inserted it into the lock, and turned until she felt the deadbolt slip out of place. She shut the door behind her and locked it again, an old habit borne out of the cautiousness that grew from working many years as a CTU agent. She wearily deposited her purse, computer case, and keys on the entry table by the door and removed the shoes from her tired feet before flicking on the hall light. Shoes in hand, she walked in her stocking feet to the kitchen, intent on foraging whatever food she could find in the fridge. Her hand reached through the dimness for the light switch and turned it on. As light flooded the room, her eyes met a magnificent bouquet of blossoms standing in a glass vase, positioned on the kitchen island. Her face burst into a smile. What on earth would possess Tony to send her flowers like this? Her birthday wasn't for another two weeks! An envelope bearing simply "Michelle" lay on the counter next to the vase. She hurriedly snatched it up, tore it open, and read the note inside:_

'Happy (early) birthday, sweetheart!

I wanted to surprise you later, but it's been a hell of a week, so I figured we needed this more now. Pack your toothbrush and something sexy because I'm taking you away for the weekend. I'll try to be home soon.

Love, Tony.'

_Grinning happily, Michelle breathed in the flowers' pungent aroma, rereading the note. She then dashed to their bedroom, all fatigue forgotten, and began madly rushing about, throwing random articles of clothing out of the drawers and onto the middle of the bed._

_She was stuffing everything she thought she could possibly need into a large duffel bag when she heard the creak of the front door. "Michelle?" came his voice from the hallway._

"_I'm in here, honey!" she called from the bedroom. He appeared in the doorway, slightly disheveled from the long work day, his suit coat hanging from one hand, his briefcase in the other. She looked up from her hurried packing. "Hey, I'm almost ready," she said._

_He arched an eyebrow, noting the duffel bag she was attempting to close. "I said a toothbrush and something sexy, not half the contents of your closet," he said, amused._

"_Well, I didn't know what constitutes 'sexy', and I figured I would need more than just underwear," she protested, but he was laughing, pulling her by the hands to bring her close._

"_Baby, on you, anything is sexy," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, a much more enthusiastic kiss than the one they had shared in his office earlier. "Although I guess you probably should bring something to wear if we venture out in public," he conceded._

_She smiled. "'If?'" she repeated mischievously._

"_Michelle, you're crazy if you don't think I'm going to lock you in a room with me for a long time after the week I've just had."_

_She grinned and returned to her packing while he headed for the bathroom. "Oh, Tony," she called after him._

_He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"_

"_Thank you."_

* * *

_Hours later, she lay curled up on the bed with her head resting on his bare chest, his arm tucked around her as he stroked her back lightly. He placed a tender kiss on the top of her head._

"_Hey, you awake?"_

"_Mm-hmm," she hummed vaguely, lulled by the rhythm of his steady breathing and the tantalizing pattern his fingers were tracing on her skin._

"_There's something we need to talk about," he said abruptly. The urgency in his tone made her roll around to meet his eyes._

_She frowned. "What's wrong?"_

_He exhaled briefly; his fingers stopped. "I got a call today, from Larry Hertzog at CIA headquarters in Langley." He paused._

_She shrugged her shoulders at him, nonplussed. "And…?" she prompted._

"_And… they're looking for a new deputy director. He wants to know if I'm interested," he said slowly, watching her for a response._

_Her eyes widened, the realization of his words sinking in. "Oh my God." She sat up and began to laugh excitedly. "Oh my God! Sweetheart, that's great… is that great?" she looked at him, briefly puzzled by his uncertainty._

"_Well… yeah." He seemed to be more enthusiastic now after her eager reaction. "I mean, it's a huge promotion, and the pay is impressive, and… I don't know. It's a big move for my career, but…" he trailed off, gazing at her questioningly. "But it means I'd have to transfer to Virginia," he finished._

_She bit her lip, understanding his hesitation now. "Oh," she murmured. For a moment, neither of them spoke, weighing the idea. Michelle wound a stray curl around her finger absentmindedly, then a smile broke out on her face. "Of course you have to accept, Tony! We'll work it out, I'm sure I can find a job there." Her excitement was back._

_He held her face in his hands, his eyes serious. "You sure? You're okay with leaving L.A.?"_

"_Tony," she said, a note of impatience in her voice, "We're a family. I'll go anywhere with you, job or not."_

_He chuckled under his breath and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips. "I'll call Hertzog next week and ask." His lips resumed their exploration of her hand, trailing kisses on her palm and onto the inside of her wrist. "Come here," he growled suddenly, wrapping his hands around her waist and effortlessly drawing her body underneath his. His mouth found her neck, traveling down her collar bone, teasing her as he moved hungrily to her chest. _

"_You weren't kidding about locking me in this room, were you?" she said playfully, her hands doing their own wandering._

_He responded by pressing his mouth against hers in a heated, passionate kiss, and a craving was in his eyes as he whispered, "Hope you weren't planning on sleeping much tonight, baby."_


	4. Chapter 4

At CTU, the office was still reeling from the effects of the previous day. Intelligence and field agents alike were hurrying around the bullpen, the phones ringing incessantly.

Michelle entered with a sense of detachment, her thoughts anywhere but in the building. Wearily, she dropped down into the chair in front of her station and logged in to the computer. Almost involuntarily, she glanced upward to the glass-encased Director's office, only mildly surprised to see a burly, grim-faced man sitting in the chair Tony had occupied for the past three years. Brad Hammond.

She felt a slight pang, missing Tony, but another, unbidden, thought occurred to her: if Tony went to prison, she, as second-in-command, would be promoted to Special Agent in Charge, perhaps permanently. The thought startled her.

A night staff member was chattering to Michelle, updating her on their active priorities, but Michelle was only half-listening. They were interrupted by the phone ringing at her station. Michelle nodded noncommittally to the night agent and picked up the phone.

"Dessler."

"Michelle, I want to see you and all department heads in the situation room immediately," Hammond's commanding voice ordered on the other end.

"On my way," she responded curtly, snatching up her laptop and a pen as she made a beeline for the conference room.

"Listen up! I know it's been a hell of a couple days, but our job's not finished," Hammond began without preamble as he entered the room. "One of our quarantine zones has been breached. Jack?"

Jack spoke up, "Saunders' courier, Arthur Rabens, informed us under duress that Saunders created a tentative contingency plan in case anything happened during his intended release of the Cordilla virus."

Michelle interrupted, "Did he give any details of the contingency plan?"

Jack shook his head. Frustration was clear in his manner as he continued, "That was all he gave us. It was unclear whether Rabens was telling the truth or simply telling us what he thought we wanted to hear—until this morning." He gestured to the large display on the wall, aiming a laser pointer to one of the areas on the map. "At approximately three a.m., masked gunmen raided the pharmacy we quarantined yesterday morning. They shot and killed our on-site agents, as well as several NHS personnel, including Dr. Nicole Duncan." He glanced at Chloe, who was typing on her open laptop. "Chloe, can you pull up the security footage?"

They watched in stunned silence as the video feed appeared on the screen. Six—no, seven—dark, masked figures burst through the glass doors of the pharmacy and opened fire as the people inside screamed and ran for cover. The bodies of the CTU agents lay in a mangled heap by the doors. Michelle stared, sickened, as the hit men picked up the unarmed NHS workers, removed the masks from their HAZMAT suits, and shot each one through the head. Two of the attackers grabbed a terrified woman, and one of them held a cloth tightly over her blood-spattered nose and mouth while the other inserted a syringe into her arm. She struggled against her assailants for a moment, the syringe slowly filling with blood, then slumped to the floor, unconscious. The man placed the syringe carefully into a box and the attackers left the building, their guns pointed threateningly at the crowd. The screen went dark briefly, and the map re-appeared.

There was a quiet, tense moment before Chloe cleared her throat and spoke. "Security footage showed the attackers leaving in a black SUV. We located the vehicle less than ten minutes ago near an abandoned warehouse in Granada Hills. Infrared satellite imaging indicates that there are people inside. LAPD has set up a perimeter in the surrounding area."

Hammond interjected, "Given Rabens' information and what we saw in the footage, it's clear that this was no random attack. We're dealing with professionals. No demands have been made yet, but we know they have the virus and possibly have the means to replicate it. We need to get in there and find out who they are before that happens."

He paused, his features menacing. "This is a very delicate situation. We need to take these people alive, find out their intentions, and most importantly, secure the virus. People, we're extremely short-staffed here today, and we can't afford any mistakes. Division has provided two agents to assist with this operation, but I want you, Jack, to head up this operation in the field, are you up for it?"

Jack gave a curt nod, indicating his consent. Hammond continued, "Then it's set. Michelle, you will run point from here. And Chloe, I need to you to set up communication and surveillance. I want eyes and ears in the field at all times, got it? Let's go." Everyone murmured in assent and hurried out. Michelle headed for the door behind the others, but she felt a tug on her arm. She turned to find herself face-to-face with Hammond.

"Michelle, you should know—in light of what's happened, I'm stepping in as Interim Director until we can find a replacement." Her eyes narrowed at him as he continued, "Normally, the Chief of Staff is promoted to Director, but Division felt that under the circumstances, you would not be an appropriate choice."

A derisive laugh escaped her lips. "I see. _Division_ felt? Or was it just you, Brad?" she asked coldly.

His face flushed with anger. "Michelle, you disobeyed orders and put fellow agents in direct danger when you went into the Chandler Plaza Hotel yesterday." Michelle started to interrupt him, but he held up a hand. "This is not up for discussion. We have procedures to follow and you have crossed the line too many times. You will remain as second-in-command here. Right now we have to focus on this operation." He left the room, but Michelle remained, her fists clenched at her sides, inwardly seething.

_How dare he?_ She thought to herself as she stormed back to her station, attaching a communication unit to her ear. How_ dare_ he blame her for those agents' deaths? Overwhelming guilt had plagued her as she had watched Gael die, followed by hundreds of others, including most of the CTU operatives that had bravely followed her into the hotel. They knew what they were getting into. They volunteered to go inside, she had made sure they understood it was their choice, not an order. And she knew, even now, that it was the right thing to have done. Survivors' guilt. That's what haunted her now. And Brad's insinuation that it was her fault only served to rip open the wound afresh.

"Michelle?" Jack's voice said in her ear. She jumped, having momentarily forgotten about the comm unit.

"I'm here Jack," she responded. Brushing aside her anger at Hammond, she joined him and Chloe in the bullpen.

"Okay, I'm in transit now, ETA in ten minutes."

"We've got a HAZMAT team right behind you. I'm coordinating with LAPD, I'll let you know if there are any changes. Get back to me when you arrive at the warehouse."

"Copy that." The earpiece went quiet.

Michelle turned to Adam Kaufman. "Adam, I want you to get real-time updates from LAPD officers on-site. We need to know everything that's going on around the warehouse," she said brusquely. He nodded and returned to his work station.

She spoke to another agent: "Get me schematics of that warehouse, I need blueprints, everything.

"Chloe, I need live satellite feed _now_." Michelle's voice was tense and even she was surprised by her sharp tone. _Damned hormones…_

The minutes passed quickly as they prepared details for the mission and watched the satellite feed on an overhead screen. Soon Jack's voice came back through the headset. "Okay, we're approaching the perimeter now."

"Jack, I'm sending the schematics of the warehouse to your PDA," Michelle answered. She turned to the agent next to her, a tall, dark-skinned woman. "Pull that up, Miss…?" She faltered, only now realizing she didn't know the woman.

"Taylor," the woman responded. "Marianne Taylor. I've got the schematics: there is a large room directly off the west entrance—that appears to be the most likely location for the terrorists to be hiding out." As she spoke she tapped at her computer, highlighting the blueprint map on the screen.

Chloe piped in, "Satellite is showing one hostile out front, one more directly inside the entrance. That's all I can see."

"Did you get that Jack?" Michelle asked into her earpiece.

"I got it. Approaching the entrance now."

"Be careful," Michelle added.

There were slight shuffling sounds for what seemed like ages, followed by muffled gunshots, and Michelle was reminded of the times she really hated this job. The helpless feeling that came from listening to the sounds of a fire fight: gunshots and screams or, worst of all, when the sounds stopped. Wondering if it was friends whose voices she would never hear again.

"Two hostiles are down," Jack's voice informed them.

"Are they alive?" Brad was becoming more and more frustrated as the minutes passed.

"No. Clean shots to the head."

"I said I need these men alive, Jack!" Brad snapped into his headset.

"I know, Brad!" Jack retorted. "It was them or us."

Brad grumbled irritably under his breath, but said nothing else.

"Approaching the main room now. Wait," they heard Jack murmur. "I have a visual on the remaining hostiles."

"Do they have the virus?" Michelle asked frantically.

There was a pause, then Jack's voice answered, "Yes. I repeat, I see the virus. We're going in."

"Wait!" Michelle cried, but her shout was drowned out by the sound of a crash, followed by heavy gunfire. She could hear agents yelling—Jack's voice was bellowing, "_Get down!_"—there was an almighty _BANG!—_and then the roars were replaced by a terrifying silence. Seconds passed in agony.

"Jack, come in," Michelle shouted into the earpiece, gripping the back of a chair tightly while a feeling of dread filled her. "Jack? JACK!"

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Cliffhanger! Sorry about the long wait. Thank you for the wonderful reviews, they really make my day! I am open to constructive criticism too, so if there is something that I need to be doing better, tell me!_

_Also, I left a note on my profile, but I am looking for a beta-reader. PM me._


End file.
